Harry Potter and the Isle of Drear: Year Six
by Hestia Hesperus
Summary: It's a place no sane wizard expects to be. To Harry Potter, the same could be said of this school year. Hogwarts may not have quintapeds, but it does have Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Malfoy, and a mysterious Slytherin girl... AU.
1. A Dreary Day

**I disclaim the verse of Harry Potter and all those in it - anything that isn't mine is J.K. Rowling's (or Anne Walsh's if it also belongs in the Dangerverse). I am simply a lonely player with a script of far greater works than my own.**

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><p><strong>Chapter One:<strong>

**A DREARY DAY**

Lord Voldemort stroked Nagini's head as he looked out the castle turret of his domain. The sky was black, the clouds pregnant with rain, and the wind whipped the branches around trees, creating a howl of dismayed rage.

He closed his eyes and let the music of the storm wash over him.

Yes…his new headquarters fit him nicely. It was far from prying wizarding eyes, and conveniently Unplottable. The only way in and out past the anti-Apparition wards was through touch of the Dark Mark, which prevented any unwanted Ministry or Order members from even trying. But that alone was not his reason for being here.

This place had always been special to him. Ever since he found the markings left by Salazar Slytherin in the hallowed Chamber of Secrets. Ever since he decided to accomplish what the greatest wizard before him had done. And this was the place rumored to hold those magical objects. Even now his Death Eaters had been given orders to search the land about for any sign of the two missing weapons.

Ah…the Founders' Gifts. Objects he had been searching for many years to turn into his four final Horcruxes—Gryffindor's sword, Hufflepuff's goblet, Ravenclaw's diadem, and, of course, Slytherin's locket.

The goblet and the diadem were lost to the world…but he had reason to believe they were hidden here on this island. And then there were the two others…but their locations had already been made known. He himself was in the possession of one, and had it safely locked away in a magical basin in a secret cave. The other was as protected from him as it could be—that fool of an old man made sure he couldn't get to it, and guarded it in his own office at the school.

But he had to secure it. It was vital. His own immortality depended on it.

"Yes, my pet," he said to Nagini, who nestled her head in his neck. "We need to make more, don't we? After all, I will only be at my strongest with my soul split into seven."

Which brought him to his greatest triumph—his Horcruxes.

As if the fates weren't cruel enough to him, he had only been able to make three Horcruxes before he…fell. First, of course, was his own diary that he'd made with the death of that Mudblood girl. The next was his family's ring, said to have belonged to the great Slytherin himself, which he had turned into a Horcrux with his filthy Muggle father and grandparents. He had hoped to make one more soon after, but the only objects that would do were the oldest and most powerful—the Founders' gifts. Nothing else would work. And so, he had spent his life searching for the Ravenclaw diadem, and the Hufflepuff goblet.

He had thought he found both of them at the witch Hepzibah Smith's house…but when he went back there again to retrieve them...they were gone. And what was more—the witch herself was found dead, leaving several traces of where she could have left her precious goblet…the place he now stood being one of them.

As for dearest Ravenclaw's diadem…that lying hag hadn't found it at all. She had a goblin-wrought tiara engraved with the letter 'R', but the markings didn't match with the historical documents of the diadem. And so, his search for this Gift continued.

And then he had gone to his old Muggle-loving professor, who'd just been made headmaster, for a teacher's position. He'd known he would never get it, of course. But that trip into Hogwarts had shown him exactly where the third gift of the Founders' was—the sword. And he had tried to retrieve it ever since. His idiotic servant and host Quirrell tried first, and failed abysmally—of course, he had been after the Philosopher's Stone then as well. And then there was that Crouch boy who got his soul sucked in the end and was of no more use to him. Even his formerly faithful servant Severus had tried…but who could ever know if he tried hard enough?

Never the matter. He would get it soon enough; he would be sending another in his stead to try their hand at retrieving this gift. And when he acquired it, then it too would be safely hidden with a slice of his soul inside.

The final gift he already had. It was Slytherin's locket, and he had turned it into a Horcrux not too soon before his fall.

That dreadful night he had lost to a mere baby he had planned to make another one. He had brought a special object along, just for the occasion. What better person to put to death for the making of a Horcrux than the very boy who was slated to kill him? But alas…that evening did not turn out quite as planned…and Voldemort's soul had been the only thing he had left. Even the object he had brought to make a Horcrux had been destroyed.

And so the years passed, as he grew in strength. After Wormtail found him, they took refuge in his father's old house. His fourth Horcrux, his beloved Nagini, was made through the death of a Muggle from the village. He then had four. Until, of course, his deathday party when that fool of a servant, Lucius Malfoy, told him that the Horcrux that had been explicitly entrusted to him had been given away to the Weasley girl and destroyed.

That was Lucius's first mistake.

For a while, he feared that he would never find the only objects that would work as Horcruxes. He turned his time, instead, to figuring out the rest of that long-awaited prophecy about him and the boy. The Horcruxes were important, yes…but they were only defenses after all. The prophecy, however…if he had been given the prophecy as was the plan, he would have an offense to create and build on. No more hiding away like common thieves and murderers. But their little tryst at the Department of Mysteries mere months ago had not gone as planned, either.

That was Lucius's second mistake.

So here he stood, only three living Horcruxes to his name. He had thought for a while to make four more instead of three, to compensate for the one that was destroyed. His plan, after all, had been to make seven Horcruxes. But no…six would be better. After all, there was his own soul as well, meaning his soul would be split into seven instead of eight. Only then could he become the greatest sorcerer of all time…

A monstrous roar split the air in the distance. Covered by trees and darkness, he saw only the light of several spells as his Death Eaters tried to tame the forest's beast. Terrified shouts mingled with the monster's roars.

His snake-like mouth split into an evil grin.

Yes…this place was perfect. The only thing more fitting was if he had Hogwarts as well. Only then could he have Harry Potter within his grasp and Albus Dumbledore in his clutches.

But, patience…he would have them soon enough. The first attack on Hogwarts would take place before the Hogwarts Express even got to the castle, and more were planned as soon as term started again.

And what was more, he was sending a spy to Hogwarts.

It could not be simply any spy, of course. No…Dumbledore was smarter than that. This spy needed to have been there before, needed to know the lay-out, who could entrust himself within his enemy's inner circles…

But this spy would not be the only one. Lord Voldemort was no fool. And so, he had entrusted many eyes to watch Hogwarts this year. Because soon, he would overtake it. And he needed as much help from the inside as he could rally.

But this time…the spy wasn't Severus. In fact, Severus was the one who was being spied on this year. He could no longer trust Severus…ever since he failed to retrieve the third gift for his master, while his fellow Death Eaters were fighting at the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore had come to fight as well, leaving Severus ample enough time to steal into the old wizard's office and remove the protections around it. But instead, he had come to their next meeting declaring failure, as Lucius had done only moments earlier. And so, he could no longer be trusted.

He sighed. Two of his most faithful servants. What a waste of wizarding intelligence.

Lucius was now in Azkaban, as was more of his Death Eaters. This made no matter—he had a plan that would soon break them all out again. But he was wont to leave Lucius there quite a bit longer…make him think about his actions…and then he would be given one more chance. And if he failed this time, it wouldn't just be his own life to pay, but his wife and son. The young Malfoy boy would make a good Death Eater…perhaps he would give the boy a chance to redeem himself after he killed the boy's father and mother. Perhaps he would send the boy to Hogwarts to be his new spy. But then again, perhaps not. After all, prices must be paid, and three mistakes called for three lives.

But another chance wasn't in the works for dear Severus. Because of his failure, the spy was to become the spied upon. And what was more, his master would be killing three dragons with one spell. Finding out if Severus was truly loyal to him, as well as sending someone to steal the third gift, and, before the year was up, to steal Harry Potter from his foolish master's clutches.

Harry Potter…was the key to everything. Without Harry, he could not succeed. And with Harry's death, he would make his three final Horcruxes. Already, a plan had been formed to capture the boy and bring him to these new headquarters. If he succeeded in this, he'd be more powerful, and much sooner than anticipated.

And if not…then he, at least, would live to kill the boy another day.

Voldemort smiled, and looked out over his domain in the formerly-abandoned castle over the wild, untamed land of the Isle of Drear.

* * *

><p>It was the first of September, and a boy with black hair and round spectacles stood on platform nine and three-quarters facing the Hogwarts Express. His name was Harry Potter and, like everyone else on that platform, he was a wizard.<p>

_Not just any wizard, though, _he thought sarcastically as the dark skies rumbled with thunder, the clouds threatening rain at any moment. _No, I have to be Harry Potter, the bloody Boy Who Lived. I have to go off saving people all the time and be trailed by guards everywhere and have a murderer after me every step of the way. I can't just be like everyone else._

_For once I want to know what it's like to be normal…_

Around him, students were bidding tearful goodbyes to their families, wondering if they were ever going to see them again. Harry, however, did not have this dilemma. His only living relatives, the exceptionally Muggle Dursleys, would never have lowered themselves to wish Harry good luck. Just imagining them waving to him in this magical setting as they stood amongst witches and wizards made Harry laugh.

There were two pops next to him.

"What is this, I hear? A cheerful sound amidst our own darkening gloom?" said Fred.

George replied, "Quoth me, a noise I haven't heard since our own youth..."

"Hullo. I thought you two couldn't make it?" Harry asked them both.

"We decided to come see the younger generation off on their dangerous, treacherous, _lecherous_ journey—" said George.

"—of which you will be taking a part of—" said Fred.

"Hang on," said Harry, laughing. "Who said anything about it being dangerous? What, you reckon just because _I'm_ on board—"

To his astonishment, however, Fred and George looked at each other, suddenly worried.

"Excuse us, Harry—"

"—must leave—"

"—I believe Ron has nose-hairs to be plucked—"

As they walked away, George reached over and whacked Fred on the head. Harry was left alone to wonder about the odd behaviour of the twins, the treacherous journey he apparently had to undertake, and Ron's ginger nose-hairs.

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><p>"Stop looking at my nose-hairs! Bugger off, you two!" said Ron irritably. Fred and George had rushed at him after their conversation with Harry, weird and annoying as usual.<p>

"Aw, is ickle Ronnie-kins embarrassed?"

"No wonder! Look at the size of that thing!"

Ron swatted at them and hugged Mum, if only to hide his red face.

"…and you be _careful, _do you hear me? That goes for you too, Ginny! I will not be wakened in the middle of the night with the knowledge that you've run off to face You-Know-Who, again. I simply won't have it this time! And Ron, mind you're taking your potion every night. I'll have Harry owl me if you don't," she said, wiping at her face.

"Mum, you don't have to be so loud," he moaned. "I'll take it, all right?"

"Now, now, Molly, no need to humiliate him," said Dad, hugging Ron tight. He said quietly, into his ear, "She is right, you know. Don't you be running off like last time. And don't tell him I said this, but look after Harry. He's going to have a hard time of it this year, now the wizarding world knows about Vol…Volde…oh, You-Know-Who-I'm-Talking-Of. And I know you don't often get along with her, but I think Hermione would profit the most from your friendship this year. Molly's told me she thinks Hermione is—er—that is to say, I think that girl is—ah, well, you'll find out. She is a dear girl. Be a gentleman."

Ron's ears were red as he pulled away. Unfortunately, the twins had heard this last.

"But Brother George! Dost mine ears deceive me?" said Fred.

"I durst say they don't! Why, Brother Frederick, I do believe that—" said George.

"—it _must_ be true, that—"

"—Ickle Ronnie fancies _Hermione!" _they chorused.

Ron spluttered. "I _don't—_I'm _not—_I would _never—_!"

"Knock it off, you two," Dad said sharply to them.

They began to protest, but Ron was no longer listening. He looked over at Hermione, who was hugging her parents goodbye with a smile on her face. She looked rather nice today—she was smiling, her skin tanner than usual, she was wearing a rather pretty blouse—

_That's preposterous! I don't…_like…_her. She's my friend…same as Harry…she's always been my friend…_

* * *

><p>"He's just a friend, Mother, please," said Hermione. She desperately hoped her mother didn't talk too loud—what if Ron heard?<p>

Mother smiled. "If you say so, my dear. But your father and I are getting along in years. We would like to see some grandchildren before we die!"

Hermione grew pink.

Dad chuckled. "Now, Cordelia, you made her blush. And if I ever saw some grandchildren, it would be too soon! I would rather she grow up an old maid than to fall in love with a beau at her age! She's my little girl, and I'm not too keen on giving her up."

Hermione hugged her dad tight. "I'll miss you, Daddy," she whispered. "And you don't have to worry—I'll always be your little girl…"

She buried her face into his shirt, and breathed in deeply. He always smelled of spice and peppermint, and every time she hugged him, it soothed her. He nestled his own head in her curls—brown, just like his.

"David, she does need to be going," her mother said.

Hermione released him, wiping at the tears on her cheeks. She turned to her mother.

"My darling Hermione," said Mother. "I am so proud of you! The both of us are. And if you do decide to start a relationship this year—oh, shush, David—then be sure it's only to the best of young men. No one is good enough for our Hermione. And remember our talk over the summer! You be sure to never let anyone take advantage of you!"

"_Mother!" _

"Oh, love, I need a hug now."

Hermione sighed and hugged her mum.

"Delia, darling, she does need to be going," said Dad, teasing her mum.

"Give everyone my love when you see them!" said Hermione, trying not to cry. "And I promise I'll be home for Christmas this year! I know it wasn't fair to you for me to spend half my summer with the Weasleys—"

"Never fret, darling. We only want you to be happy," said Mother.

But for some reason, even though she was going off to Hogwarts, Hermione couldn't feel happy. The only thing she felt at the moment mirrored the skies threatening to spill above—sad.

Sad and dreary.

* * *

><p>It was rather sad and dreary having to say goodbye to the twins and Bill and Charlie, Ginny thought. Percy wasn't there, of course. He tried on several occasions to apologize to the family, but they all knew he only half-meant what he was saying.<p>

As it was, Ginny had enjoyed the summer too much to really look forward to going back to Hogwarts this year. She was too afraid of leaving her family—attacks had been made all summer—what if they were next?

"Never you worry about us, Gin-Gin," said Bill, tweaking her hair. "We'll be all right. Won't we, Charles?"

"Of course we will," Charlie agreed, winking. "And I've got a surprise for you this year—just wait till you see her—"

"Her? Is it a girl then? Don't tell me one of you prats actually landed a girlfriend!" Ginny teased.

Bill and Charlie shared amused grins. "Oh…it's a girl all right…"

"Well, when can I meet her? Have you proposed? Is there a wedding date set? Am I finally going to have a sister?"

Bill roared with laughter. Charlie, meanwhile tried to calm her down.

"Listen, Gin, you mustn't tell anyone, all right? But she's…rather fiery. I daren't bring her around just yet," he said.

Ginny saw students boarding the train, and gave them both tight hugs.

"You be careful, Gin," said Bill over her head. "Don't give us a reason to come save you, now—and we will, too, we're both in the Order. I don't care what Harry says this time—he's a good chap, and I love him like a brother, and he _did _save you…and Dad…and Ron…but I don't want you blindly following anyone."

Ginny opened her mouth to protest, but Charlie agreed.

"We've been able to tell for a while that you like him. Don't worry—we haven't told anyone—whatever the matter, use your head. If you have to save him, then do it, but don't go leaving Hogwarts for any sort of midnight excursions," Charlie said as they hugged. "Well…I suppose romantic rendezvous are all right, but not the dangerous kind! And this is coming from me, you understand, which goes to show how serious I am."

She rolled her eyes and rushed off to the train.

"And Ginny!" Charlie called after her. "Slaughter the Slytherins in Quidditch this year, won't you?"

She sighed and grinned wickedly. "That's my job!"

* * *

><p>"But that's <em>my<em> job!"

"Not while you're at school, it isn't—"

Neville couldn't stop looking at the quarrelling pair. It was a mother with her daughter who couldn't have been more than a year or two younger than him. They both had black hair and dark skin, and the girl had startling gray eyes that Neville couldn't look away from—he swore he'd seen them before, only on someone else...

She suddenly glanced up at him and glared. He tore his eyes away and looked over at his grandmother, growing pink. He hoped she hadn't thought he was staring—that was rather rude, he should have known better—

"What has got you all of a dither, Neville?" said Gran sternly. "I would think you'd miss me more, being away so long. Who were you staring at? Not the Freemans, I hope? That Aletha Freeman has got some nerve, showing up here with that child! Born out of wedlock, she was. And nobody has a clue who the child's father is. A Muggle, I expect. I simply don't know how she passed on the gene…"

It was no use arguing with her. She had a mouth to talk the horns off an erumpent.

"Yes, Gran," said Neville miserably. His arms were full of his bags as he followed her to the train.

"Ex_cuse_ me!"

He stopped.

The black girl—Freeman, Gran called her—was standing in front of him, tapping her foot on the pavement. Her face held a soured expression, and in her arms she held a toad.

"Oh no, did he escape again?" said Neville, putting his trunk down and reaching out to take him.

Freeman didn't let him. "Did you have some poor excuse for staring at me earlier, or were dropped on your head as a baby?"

He blinked. "Erm...sorry...you just...reminded me of someone, is all..."

Her brow quirked. "Oh, really? Who?"

"Well, I don't really know," he stammered. "That's why I was staring. I was trying to figure it out...I'm rather sorry..."

The girl sighed. "Oh, well, it could happen to anyone, I suppose. Here's your toad, by the way."

Startled by the sudden change of emotion, Neville looked at her.

"You're rather strange, you know," he blurted out. At once he blushed. Gran had raised him better than that...insulting someone he'd just met...

She stuck out her tongue, making her look several years younger. "Am not!"

"Are too. Anyway, I'm Neville. Neville Longbottom." He stuck his hand out suddenly.

She scrutinized it before slowly holding out her own small, slender one, toad and all. "Meghan. Meghan Freeman."

White hand met black around Trevor the Toad, and they shook.

* * *

><p>With shaking hands, Luna of Ravenclaw took the item her father held out to her. "But Daddy—I can't have it—"<p>

Most all the students were already on the train, and parents and family members Disapparated or disappeared through the platform wall one by one. A few of them, however, still remained.

"Yes, you can. It was your mother's, and she would want you to have it," said Gerald Lovegood, with a sad smile.

She stroked the small orb with her finger. It was miniscule—barely bigger than a Knut or a Blibbering Humdinger, and it hung on a long, silver chain. If she peered into the swirling silvery depths of the orb long enough, she could even make out shapes—a train, a raven, a cloak…

Slipping it over her head, Luna smiled as a feeling of safety settled over her. "I'll miss you, Daddy! I love you! Don't find the Snorkack without me!"

Her father grinned and hugged her. "Of course I won't. Be the best person you can be. Go save the world, my darling Lu-lu."

"You too, Daddy," she said, smiling and hugging him back.

Over her father's shoulder, she saw Draco Malfoy standing in the shadows with his mother. His father was nowhere to be seen…Luna suspected this was because his father was in prison now. With worried glances around them, Narcissa Malfoy pressed something into Draco's hand, and he looked at her in disbelief before taking it.

Luna could hear snatches of their conversation with her finely-tuned ears. Words like "…be careful…" "…make sure no one sees you…" and "…this mission was entrusted to you…" were audible.

And then Draco Malfoy looked up, his gray eyes boring right into Luna's own silver ones. She stared at him, unabashedly, not bothering to look away. Their silent contest was broken when the whistle blew.

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><p>Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny hurried to board the train as the whistle blew, and met Neville and Luna just before getting on.<p>

Harry noticed that this was the first time they were all together since they risked their lives for him. He suddenly felt a lump in his throat, and opened his mouth to say something—

"Well? What are you all standing around for? Get a bloody move on!" snapped Draco Malfoy from behind them. He and the dark girl Neville saw earlier were glaring at them. They were the last ones left on the platform.

The whistle blew once more, and Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Draco Malfoy, and Meghan Freeman all boarded the Hogwarts Express.

Little did they know that they would be thrown together more than once before the year's end.


	2. The Journey There

**I disclaim the verse of Harry Potter and all those in it - anything that isn't mine is J.K. Rowling's (or Anne Walsh's if it also belongs in the Dangerverse). I am simply a lonely player with a script of far greater works than my own.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two:<strong>

**THE JOURNEY THERE**

The Hogwarts Express rolled along the railroad tracks, intent on carrying the students inside to their school.

In one compartment, looking out the foggy window, Harry studied the darkened landscape as the train whizzed by, alternating that with watching the pounding water slide down the window pane. He was alone. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were gone to the prefects' car, and Neville and Luna had just left him after hanging out for a few hours. And so he was left to his thoughts.

He let them hover on the edge of everything he had learned from the Weasleys, Dumbledore, and the occasional visit from Order members at the Burrow. From how the _Daily Prophet_ reacted to the news of You-Know-Who's return, to how deeply contrite they all were for disbelieving Harry and Dumbledore and making them out as frauds. From the latest reports on the Death Eaters, to what the Order was doing to try and halt them in their work. From how both sides had been recuperating from the battle at the Department of Mysteries to how the Minister was faring with leading the Ministry into the fight alongside Dumbledore against Voldemort.

Before any of that had happened, however, his summer had started out like any other.

His first few weeks with the Dursleys had, like every other year before it, been practically uneventful…if you were to count Dudley Dursley, age sixteen, on house arrest something not too extraordinary.

It seemed that, for the first time in their lives, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had seen through their precious son's disguise once he had come home on holiday. Instead of ignoring all the talk of him getting drunk and smoking and simply refusing to believe it all as they had done the previous summer, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had decided to put an end to it.

Harry wasn't quite sure what it was exactly that had convinced them their prized possession wasn't nearly as spotless as they had thought, but he was fairly sure that Mrs. Next Door's cat being found near the town hall drinking whisky out of Dudley's renowned Smeltings wrestling championship cup had something to do with it.

As it was, they finally confronted Dudley and heard all about his habit of going off with his friends and getting drunk—although hearing it from Harry's cousin's point of view, you'd think that Piers Polkiss and his gang were Death Eaters who Imperiused Dudley to get wasted with them. Never mind all the neighbors' reports of him and his friends vandalizing the park and spray-painting the brick walls of property houses or getting caught smoking in the alley-ways.

According to Vernon and Petunia Dursley of Number 4, Privet Drive, they were convinced their son was being blackmailed.

Thus it was Dudley Dursley, for the first time in his life, being kept under lock and key—"For fear of that nasty boy he hangs around with will spoil our dear Dudder-kins and ruin his reputation!" But what exactly they hoped to accomplish by this, Harry did not know, seeing as how Dudley found a way to sneak out every night anyway and come home in the early hours, completely zonked.

But house arrest had quite a few other side-effects, the prominent of which meant that Harry also had to be stuck inside the house during his entire duration there.

Luckily for him, however, he only needed to stay at the Dursleys' for two weeks during that whole summer.

_Shortest vacation with them ever. Didn't have to deal with that stupid house arrest long before Dumbledore and the Weasleys owled, saying I could spend the remainder of the holiday at the Burrow…and to look forward to not seeing the Dursleys for the rest of this year, Dumbledore said…_

Harry had chuckled at this part—he didn't take Dumbledore as one for this sort of blunt statement, but he was bound to notice how much Harry despised his relatives sooner or later.

So it was a rather pleased Harry that the Knight Bus dropped off near the middle of July at the Weasley household—with Dumbledore as his chaperone, much to Harry's confusion—and it was a gleeful Ron and Ginny who came out to greet him.

The Burrow hadn't been the same without the twins living there that summer, even though they came by to visit on weekends and popped in every now and then to sit back and relax with the family. They had come home every day full of tales of how things were going. The both of them were living in Hogsmeade now, in the rooms above their shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"It's a pity we couldn't get that one place on Diagon Alley we were looking at," said George wistfully one summer day. "We had the place picked out and everything."

"Number ninety-three," Fred reminisced, smiling. "It was the very pinnacle of perfection. Those lazy, no-account bureaucrats…"

"Sold us out, they did. Stabbed our backs, they did."

"But there'll be better business in Hogsmeade anyhow," said Fred. "Hundreds of students, all dying to get the newest pranking devices—and we won't only be having business from the lot of them on Hogsmeade days too—"

"That's right, little ones," said George in a phony announcer's voice not unlike those on the WWN, "For the simple price of two Sickles, you too can own an official owl-to-order catalogue, complete with—"

"—a pricelist of all of our products—" said Fred.

"—a 'guaranteed-to-succeed' Sickle Order—"

"—a charmed section called 'Which Wheezes' which details what's on sale, every day—"

"—and of course, you can't live without—"

"Coupons!" they said.

Ginny was caught more than once hanging on to their every word about the new things they were inventing in their little room in the back, how excited they were for October when they could finally open, and their future plans on selling Zonko's out of business. It had been oddly depressing walking onto the train without the twins, and watching them wave good-bye on platform nine and three-quarters, Harry thought.

As usual, his summer with the Weasleys flew by with homemade meals, day-long Quidditch matches played with all the Weasley children (minus Percy) when the twins, Bill, and Charlie could get off work, and numerous household chores whenever Harry and Ron could complain about them. It was very different than the previous summer spent at Grimmauld Place, Harry thought with a grimace, thinking back to the dreary afternoons spent in the old, derelict and disease-ridden house. Granted, there had been the occasional visits from the Order and eaves-dropping whenever they could to scrounge up some information as to what Voldemort was up to and what Dumbledore was doing about it…but this summer it was no secret.

The middle of July showed the wizarding world who the next Minister of Magic would be. Since Fudge was sacked after the Department of Mysteries fiasco, the world was in an uproar as to who they wanted to lead them into the eve of impending battle. The lot eventually fell to Amelia Bones, who left her position as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and took the office of Minister of Magic.

That summer was full of Death Eater attacks and activities. At once the new Minister jumped into action and every Ministry worker began working double-time, especially those in her former department. Bones did try rather hard to make amends for not believing Dumbledore and Harry after Voldemort's return. The Ministry groveled and put the two up on pedestals; it was even shown early on in the game that the Ministry wouldn't be in the way anymore, but would instead try to work with Dumbledore as much as they could. Minister Bones even reserved a weekly article in the _Daily Prophet _that reviewed everything the Ministry was doing to stop Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was now in the hands of a man named Richard Corleon. Harry hadn't heard much about him except that he was also now Head of the Aurors and Bill Weasley had been paired up with him on a case once or twice.

"Oh, he's a fine fellow, really, but very tough. I heard he's been turning his department inside out since ol' Diggle disappeared. _I_ definitely wouldn't want to get on his bad side, that's for sure. They say he's the best in his line of work, and barely hitting forty. Of course, I've only been on the field with him twice—curse-breakers are often called on by the DMLE and Auror teams when they've come across something particularly nasty in the places they've searched that's riddled with Dark Arts, see—but from what I could tell, he's a favorite of both Moody and Kingsley, which is saying something as they've both got very different tastes. Not that that's a bad thing!" said Bill hastily as the visiting Kingsley Shacklebolt shot him a look from across the room.

Meanwhile, every evening was spent in the living room with the Weasleys, playing chess with Ron while Mrs. Weasley crocheted and Mr. Weasley fiddled with the crossword puzzles on the local Muggle newspaper, and Ginny read her witch magazines.

To the casual onlooker, they looked quite happy and content with what they were doing, but Harry knew better. Mrs. Weasley's lips were always pursed, Mr. Weasley's grip on the newspaper too strong, and Ron's movements on the chessboard too calculated—as if he was trying to plan out the events of the war with his chess set. It wasn't show-tunes they were listening to on the Wizarding Wireless every night from six to nine; it was news reports on the latest happenings with the Death Eaters, and how the Ministry was faring in light of the newly proclaimed war with Voldemort. Every so often they would hear about a wizarding family being saved from werewolves by a witch or wizard, or anonymous people showing up soon after a Death Eater attack on a Muggle street, and the Weasleys and Harry knew them at once to be members of the Order.

There were more than enough times when Harry, Ron, and Ginny would be caught by Mrs. Weasley gleaning information from Fred and George, who were now in the Order. She began to watch the twins like a hawk every time they came over, preventing them from having any conversations alone with their younger siblings. It wasn't until Harry and Ron started hanging out with Bill and Charlie when they visited to hear about any and all undercover organizing they'd been doing for the Order in their prospective countries that Mrs. Weasley finally gave in and a truce was made. Thus it was that every night at supper, she allowed her husband to let the kids know the general happenings at their Order meetings and what was going on…so long as it was under her supervision.

Harry and Ron were able to learn quite early on that Order meetings were no longer being held in Grimmauld Place as it was in the current custody of the Ministry, who were now investigating Sirius' death and seizing the property to find anything that could help them with stopping Voldemort.

"What do they think they're going to find, a timeline of Voldemort's next attacks?" Harry roared when he first heard.

"That's exactly what they think they're going to find," said Mr. Weasley. "Remember, Harry, they still think Sirius was You-Know-Who's right-hand man. They're probably in the mindset that Grimmauld Place was the headquarters not for the Order, but for the Death Eaters! After a year of scandalizing you and Dumbledore for stating You-Know-Who's return, of course they're going to be seizing every property they can in search of anything that will help them with capturing Death Eaters, no matter whose property it is. But I'm not complaining—I'm just grateful that Lucius Malfoy's finally been arrested and his estate searched…"

But how the Ministry had found out about Sirius' death and how they got Dumbledore to let them in, Harry didn't know. Nor were the three friends privy as to where the new headquarters for the Order were. The older Weasleys in the Order could tell them quite a bit of stuff, but where they were now meeting was not one of them.

And then came the end of July, which also brought Harry's first surprise birthday party.

According to Mrs. Weasley afterwards, Ron and Hermione had been planning it for ages. That morning, the twins had invited him and Ron to the building they had just purchased in Hogsmeade ("It's a great location, isn't it?" said Fred. "Won't be able to open till October, but that leaves us plenty of time to decorate it, liven it up a bit…and the best part is we'll be living right next to Hogwarts. We'll be able to come visit you every weekend!") and when they came back, the entire Burrow lawn was decorated in chairs and tables heavy with people and food. Streamers hung in mid-air, balloons floated around like bubbles, and it seemed as if half the members of the Order of the Phoenix were there, with at least a dozen people from school. Hermione was there as well with the happy news that her parents didn't mind her staying at the Burrow for the rest of the summer, as long as she came home for Christmas.

And of course, along with all the people came all the presents. Harry felt rather like his cousin Dudley, staring at the humongous pile of gifts just for him. He felt too embarrassed opening them in front of everyone, however, and waited until they had all gone and the party was over.

Ron was only too enthusiastic in helping him open them up and the rest of the hour was filled with his exclamations of "Oh, cool!" and "Wicked!" and even a "What I wouldn't give to be you, mate," after he opened Harry's tenth package of Chocolate Frogs. Harry reconciled this by giving Ron half his loot outright and sharing the other half.

It wasn't long, too, before Hermione said worriedly, "By the way, have either of you gotten your O.W.L. results back? I haven't, and McGonagall said they would come two weeks after the school year ended."

Neither Ron nor Harry had gotten theirs and needed to reassure Hermione that no, they hadn't flunked their exams and yes, they would be going back to Hogwarts. It didn't take long for Harry and Ron to forget about them again, but Hermione didn't. She stayed very alert for the three owls that were supposed to come, but they never did, and she finally wrote to Professor McGonagall a week before the start of term.

But as August progressed and the evenings listening to the WWN wore on, Harry had started to become more and more dampened by the smallest things. It soon became clear to everyone that it didn't take much to set him off. Harry applauded them for trying to make him feel as comfortable as they could; even though he resented the constant tiptoeing everyone started doing, especially where Sirius and anything concerning the goings-on of the Department of Mysteries was concerned.

He was only grateful that he didn't have to step foot in Sirius' old house again. The news of the Order moving headquarters to someplace else had lightened his mood considerably.

Spending the summer going from one extreme to the other had been rather tiring. First it was from a blissfully ignorant wizarding world to a wildly chaotic one now they knew of Voldemort's uprising. Then Harry'd had to go from everything magical to everything Muggle with his two-week stay at the prim and proper Dursleys', then back again to live at the Burrow.

Once he was with the Weasleys, his moping and mourning for his godfather had surprisingly disappeared, but after his birthday party it all slowly came back again. And while he had to admit his time with the Weasleys had done wonders for him—it seemed for a while almost as if Harry had left his bad dreams and terrible moods behind him in Surrey the first few weeks he was there—he knew he was only riding a temporary high. The minute Mr. and Mrs. Weasley said goodbye to them at the station, his gloomy thoughts of the year previous had caught up with him.

And now…well, now Harry was just depressed and frustrated.

Depressed because just two weeks ago, three tawny owls came soaring into the Burrow's kitchen bearing notes with the Hogwarts crest to three lucky people: two telling Ron and Hermione they were prefects again; the third making Ginny shriek in joy and knock her orange juice all over the table.

Depressed because, even though he knew that they really did deserve it, a fair portion of him still wished that he didn't have to be left out once again.

Depressed because just as soon as he stepped onto the train from platform nine and three-quarters, all three of his friends had left him for the prefects' meeting at the front of the train and he was left to scavenge for a compartment for himself.

He was mad at Hermione, even though she didn't really want to go, and kept consoling him with the knowledge that they would be back as soon as they could get out of there because she thought she knew how he felt.

He was mad at Ron for taking Hermione's lead and telling him that being a prefect wasn't all that it was made out to be, really, and Harry was much better off not having to sit through a three-hour-long lecture on how they had better improve their inter-House unity "or else it's your own prefect status that will pay".

And he was mad at Ginny for being so bubbly and happy, and talking constantly about how glad she was that she was a prefect and how that was the best thing in the world.

Of course, Harry put on a bright smile and pretended everything was okay. What else was he supposed to do? A part of him felt guilty for being mad at them when they hadn't even done anything, but all he had to do was think of the three of them sitting in the prefects' compartment and having a grand old time with each other for that feeling to disappear.

Luna and Neville coming in and keeping him company a half-hour into the ride did help, but it wasn't as easy to talk with the pair of them. Harry had hopes that they'd be better friends this time around, though, so maybe that was subject to change. He had a feeling that Ginny was going to be hanging out with them a lot more, and quite possibly Neville and Luna as well, especially after what had happened last June.

But they only stayed for two hours before leaving again, and Harry was left once more to his own thoughts.

As if on cue, the door to their compartment slid open and revealed a red-faced Ron, Hermione, and Ginny as they finally came in from their prefect meeting.

"Oh, that _horrid—" _were Hermione's first words upon entering, as Ron slammed the door behind them.

"What happened?" said Harry.

"Take a wild guess," snarled Ron.

"We came across Draco Malfoy torturing poor Neville," Ginny explained.

"He actually Transfigured him into a toad! I mean, it's a tricky bit of magic_—_I didn't know Malfoy could do it_._ All the Slytherins were just playing with him and tossing him back and forth. They could really have hurt him!" said Hermione.

Harry felt bile rise up in his throat, and called Malfoy a name that made Hermione blush. "How'd you know it was Neville, then, and not a pet?"

"We didn't," said Ron. "That was all Luna. She was with us when we went past their compartment, and said, 'They really shouldn't do that to Neville.'"

The door opened again and a red-faced Neville walked in, helped by Luna Lovegood.

"You all right, then?" Harry asked him.

"Yeah. Worst things have happened," said Neville, shrugging glumly.

"I should've known, when you didn't come back," Harry said. "I didn't even think that something had happened_—_"

"It's not your fault. You can't just tag along every time anyone goes somewhere. It's me...I really need to just defend myself. That spell hit me out of nowhere; I didn't even see it coming. With all you taught us in the D.A. last year...I should have been more prepared. There's a reason you taught us that stuff," said Neville. He looked down at the wand in his hands gloomily.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other.

"But Neville, you were so_ good_ at the Department of Mysteries! You did more damage than anyone, save Harry," said Hermione.

"Yeah, they took me out before they could get to you," said Ron.

"Listen, Neville, the Slytherins hardly ever give you a chance to defend or protect yourself_—_you should know that by now. I doubt any one of us could have known in time to put up a shield or stop them. You did what you could," Harry said.

Neville gave them a shy smile and sat up straighter. "So d'you think you'll be starting up the D.A. again this year, Harry_…_"

_Hopefully this year we won't need to have secret combat clubs…but it would be nice if we could have them even if they aren't as needed. We all had fun with them. And who knows? Maybe we can bring more people in and have them brush up on their defense skills._

Every compartment surrounding theirs was soon full of the D.A. and every couple of hours someone new would pop their heads in and talk with them as they sat. The three or four train compartments besides their own comprised solely of D.A. members set a feeling deep down in Harry's chest to grumbling happily. With a shock, he recognized it as pride and triumphant satisfaction.

_At least I've done this much right. _

The old group of last year was still going strong, even though none of them were together officially anymore. They all knew that if this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was going to be a flop, they'd all be up and running again, but Harry had gotten hints from Dumbledore's visit with him over the summer that he'd hired someone who actually deserved the title.

But still, just the knowledge that Dumbledore's Army had done something worth remembering, and something still worth mentioning, made them all proud of themselves.

Though it was comfortable just sitting here with his friends, as the day wore on and turned darker, Harry's mood darkened with it. They had already been traveling for most of the day and the storm just kept getting worse.

He sighed as his eyes raked over Ron and Hermione from across the train's compartment. As much as he loved his two best friends, there were times when he felt he could strangle them. Now, however, was not one of those times. It wasn't that he wouldn't enjoy doing it—quite the contrary—but he was far too tired to do anything of the sort at the moment.

Hermione, as usual, could be found with her Hogwarts robes already on and her bushy curls tucked beneath a silver clip. She was deeply engrossed in _Witches and Wizards of the 20th Century_, something Harry knew she had read more than twice, although she kept glancing at him when she thought he wasn't looking.

Neville and Luna sat opposite her, both peering over Luna's copy of _The Quibbler_—it seemed that the usually forgetful boy had convinced Luna to let them do the crossword puzzle right-side up, and Luna for her part was being quite generous in sharing her knowledge of her father's zany beliefs.

Harry thought at first that it was nice of Neville, doing that with her. Harry himself certainly wasn't being very social, and with Hermione reading her book and Ron and Ginny talking of Quidditch, there wasn't much left for Neville to do but humor Luna and become occupied himself in doing so. But then Harry saw that Neville wasn't just doing it to be polite or because he was bored.

_He's really having a nice time, talking to her. Well, good for Neville._

Luna looked up at Harry and caught him staring at them.

Her appearances certainly were a bit tamer than he recalled from his introduction to her last year at this time. Her long blonde hair looked rather nice in its loose plait, and at the end of it were blue and red ribbons going down her back. There were no radish earrings on her ears, nor was she sporting the bottle-cap necklace she had last year. Instead Harry saw a rather large badge ironed onto the school uniform she was now wearing, which featured an animal. It looked like a cross between a big-horned sheep and a yak; and above the animal were the words:

**The Crumple-Horned Snorkack:**

**Have YOU seen it?**

Harry grinned. She noticed him and smiled back, somewhat placidly, then went back to her puzzle.

Ginny's laughter pealed out across the air and Harry turned to see what they were going on about now. Ron had his mouth half-open, half-closed as he was trying to chew a twitchy Chocolate Frog that was likewise trying to get out of his mouth. Normally they only had one good jump in them, but judging by the way this one kept managing to get its webbed feet out from between his lips, it had several more than one.

Crookshanks, Hermione's ginger half-Kneazle cat, hopped onto Ron's lap and stared in fascination at his mouth, waiting for it to come out. Finally, Ron gave up and the Chocolate Frog shot out and ricocheted off the seat across from him. At once, Crookshanks pounced on it before it could get away.

"Bloody hell," Ron said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "That one must have gone through the Charmer more than a dozen times, I reckon. Odd, that."

"That happens sometimes in the Muggle world, too," Harry spoke up. "Dudley once got a bag of chocolates that had twice the amount it usually has. He acted like it was Christmas."

Ginny snorted.

"Fat git," said Ron lazily. "Oi, I wonder when we'll be getting there. I'm starving."

"Since when is that different from how you normally are?" said Hermione.

"Since the last time I ate," came Ron's smooth reply.

He looked over at her as she made a face and went back to her book.

"So…tell me, Hermione. Who is it exactly that you find more fascinating than the rest of us? Is it a fat warlock who learned how to grow his toenails inside-out? Or a Spanish monk who transfigured the clouds to spell out 'Up Yours'?" Ron reached over and plucked the book from her hands, turning it around so it wasn't upside-down. "Who could possibly be better company than—_Harry?"_

He dropped the book in disgust.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Ron!" Hermione blushed.

"Huh?" Ginny said.

Ron looked at Hermione with a disgusted look as she snatched the book from the floor and wiped it off.

"There's nothing wrong with being interested in reading an article that has my best friend's name at the top, Ron," Hermione said crossly.

"But why do you need to read that when you've got the real thing right here?" Ron asked.

Harry opened his mouth to inform them that he didn't care for being talked about as a thing when he was "right here" as Ron said, but Hermione's reply drowned out his feeble attempts.

He sighed irritably.

Ginny caught Harry's eye as the squabbling began once more. _And here we go again, _her expression seemed to say in the same exasperated tone Harry felt. He heartily nodded in agreement.

It didn't seem that Ron and Hermione's bickering was upsetting Luna and Neville, however. On the contrary, they were engrossed in one of the articles; upon a closer look, Harry could see that it had something to do with shrinking Swedish Shortsnouts.

"Fine then," snapped Ron, standing up. "I'll just leave you to your Harry-mongering and make myself scarce."

"Ron—" Hermione sighed, exasperated. "If you're bored and fancying a game, just say so. I don't mind putting my book down—"

"Don't bother. I have to go to the loo, anyway."

Ron slid open the compartment door and disappeared into the corridor, leaving behind a rather bewildered Hermione. She looked over at Harry, who shrugged.

"Don't look at me," he said. "I thought_ I_ was the moody one in here."

Ginny glanced up. "Don't fret about it, Hermione, he's just jealous that it's Harry who's in the book, as usual, and not him. Although…come to think of it…he's been acting like this all summer. With Harry, the two have been your average mourning augureys…I just don't know what Ron's grieving about."

She gave Harry a furtive look, which told him that she knew exactly why Harry had been moody all summer. He felt a sharp throb in his chest and forced himself to look out the window.

It was as he was trying not to think about Sirius that he saw it. His eyes snapped open.

He sat up and wiped away the part of the window his face had been pressed up against so he could see outside more clearly. But no...it wasn't there...he had imagined it yet again...

Harry leaned back, his face pale.

_That can't have been Padfoot, _he told himself._ I can't have just seen him...he's dead...Sirius is dead..._

* * *

><p>Hermione Granger was worried.<p>

It was really dark now, and the rain had turned from drizzle to hail, clinking loudly against the roof of the train as it traveled.

_We've got to be nearly there, _she thought. _I don't remember the trek taking this long before—_

She kept looking over at Harry. He sat beside the window, staring out forlornly. Feeling a pang of pity, she wished that she could do something...say something...anything to help him get over Sirius' death. But nothing came to mind. She had never been in his position before. The closest she had come to losing someone had been her great-aunt when she was five. But Harry...he'd lost his parents before he could remember them, had Cedric killed in front of his eyes, and now Sirius...

_It isn't fair, _she thought. _It isn't fair for Sirius to die on him as well..._

She had just noticed how dark the room had gotten when Luna lifted her eyes from the page and said, with a cock of her head—

"Something's not right."

A second later, there was a horrible screeching sound that filled the train. Everyone stopped talking and clapped their hands over their ears, faces in a grimace.

"What IS that?" Harry bellowed.

"It's the brakes!" Neville shouted back. "We're slowing down!"

Never before had Hermione truly known what the words "screeching to a halt" sounded like. Now she knew, and she was sure she had been better off not knowing.

Ginny screamed as a trunk and a cage came crashing down on them, knocking Neville to the floor. Hedwig was hooting angrily in her cage still on the shelf, and Pigwidgeon shot out of his on the floor and started rocketing around the small cabin. Even Crookshanks, who was planted in Hermione's lap, had his claws out to their fullest extent—making Hermione wince from the pain as well as the noise.

Harry picked the trunk off a flattened Neville and shoved it back up.

Hermione peered out the window. Through the dark rain she could see Hogwarts in the distance…but the train had now stopped, and it was still a fair few miles ahead…

"That's odd," she said. "We're not there yet and there's no reason for us to be stopping now. Unless—"

An old fear resurfaced and transformed itself in the pit of her gut as she remembered the last time the train had stopped before they got to Hogsmeade.

_Not good. Not good, not good, not good…_

But before she could voice her own thoughts—the lights went off.

_Oh no._


	3. Attack on the Hogwarts Express

**Chapter Three:**

**ATTACK ON THE HOGWARTS EXPRESS**

Harry's wand was out before he consciously knew what he was doing. He slid open the compartment door and poked his head out. Everyone else in the adjoining cars either had their heads out or their whole bodies, and they were all talking to each other in loud voices. Some of the first years were starting to cry, and even those who had been on the train three years ago were starting to get upset.

"You don't think—"

"It's not—"

"_Dementors?"_

"Don't be foolish," said Hermione over the chatter. "They're miles away from here, guarding Azkaban, and you don't feel anything getting colder in here than it already is, do you?"

Harry turned around to find that she had stepped out of the compartment as well, her wand already lit. Belatedly, he looked around the hall and saw that everyone he could see who had their wands out and lit already was either a part of the D.A. or right next to someone who was.

"You know that's a load of codswallop, right?" he said in a low voice to Hermione. "If they've joined Voldemort they wouldn't be at Azkaban, they'd be wherever he sends them. This could very well be dementors."

"Of course I know that," she whispered. "But there's no reason everyone else needs to know it as well. The fewer people we have panicking the better."

Back in the cabin, Neville was peering out the window to the front of the train. "Harry…I see a few people out there, but they're definitely not dementors. They've got wands and they're talking—I can't make out what they're saying—"

He was interrupted by a woman's voice which was magically magnified to echo up and down the train.

"If you could all please calm down and listen closely, it would be much appreciated. There is no reason to panic. It appears that there is something blocking the railway tracks, which is preventing the Hogwarts Express from reaching the train station. As such, everyone will be walking the rest of the way—"

Murmurs broke out as the students looked at each other.

"Walking?"

"But it's got to be at least ten miles from here to the castle!"

"No, I think it's more like two—"

"But _walking?"_

"Are they sure that's safe with You-Know-Who about—?"

The voice continued as if it hadn't been interrupted, "—until we approach the station, where coaches will be waiting, as is usual, to pick all the students up and drop them off at Hogwarts' main doors. You will all be escorted by a number of trained Aurors, as well as your own Head Boy and Head Girl. Prefects, please help as many students as you can. Students, please exit the train in an orderly fashion and follow your superiors till you get to Hogsmeade Station. Your luggage will be taken to the castle separately. Thank you."

There was an outbreak of talking and shouting in the corridor once more and a great deal of rummaging around as people stampeded to get to the doors first.

Harry and Hermione retreated into the compartment as people flooded past their door.

"I think it would be safer to wait until most everyone's out," Harry said, sitting back down.

Hermione shot him a look that would have come across as a glare if it weren't for the fact that Harry could see the fear hiding in her eyes. "Safer? Harry, this could all be a trap! What if it was Death Eaters who blocked the tracks and made it so the only option was for hundreds of students to walk to Hogsmeade—_you _being one of them? We have to be extremely careful—if anything, you should be in the middle of everyone else so it's harder for them to spot you and pick you off—"

"Hermione!" Harry half-shouted, cutting her off. "I'm not going to let everyone else cover me up and hang their own skin out to dry just so I won't be noticed! If it's my fault this is happening, there's no way in hell I'm going to let any of our classmates take the hits—"

"Besides," Ginny cut in. "I'm fairly sure half the Order's out there to escort everyone safely and make sure we all get there all right—especially you, Harry. I overheard Charlie and Tonks talking about something like this happening before we left."

"Something like—wait," said Harry. "Fred and George did say something about a 'treacherous journey'. They _knew _this was going to happen? But how—?"

"It doesn't matter! Harry, I know how you feel, but what do you think Dumbledore will say when he finds out that you're knowingly putting yourself in danger—" Hermione said, her voice rising.

Neville was watching the exchange, alarmed, but Luna seemed oblivious to the current conversation as her eyes followed Pigwidgeon's progress.

Harry was about to retort when he saw just how distressed Hermione was, and stopped. All of a sudden, he remembered how upset she'd been last June when Harry was trying to convince her that his vision of Sirius being tortured was real. He sighed.

"Hermione—look—I'm not putting myself in danger." He kept his voice low and reassuring. "It's like Ginny said, the Order knew this was going to happen. And it's like that witch said, there's going to be loads of trained Aurors to guard everyone and bring them to safety. And…well, isn't it the prefects' job to make sure everyone's out safe? I'm betting there'll be a bunch of them in the front and middle, but none of them are going to want to be the tail-end. We should…er…make sure everyone gets out all right."

Hermione looked at him, looking torn between Harry's safety and that of the rest of the students.

"Oh…all _right_. I just wish that you'd let Ron and me—" Hermione suddenly stopped and looked around.

"Harry…" she said. "Where's Ron?"

* * *

><p>Ron stomped down the train corridor with a disgusted air. He didn't know why it bothered him so much that Hermione was glued to books about Harry, but it did.<p>

He passed several first-years running back and forth and snapped at them to stop. They looked at him with wide eyes and obeyed. Feeling somewhat satisfied, he came to the boys' lavatory and kicked it open, Hermione's voice echoing inside his head. .

"_There's nothing wrong with being interested in reading an article that has my best friend's name at the top, Ron..."_

_Nothing wrong? As if!_

But what exactly was so wrong with it, he couldn't quite put his finger on.

_Not that it matters. Never does, to her. And since when is _he_ her best friend, anyway? What about me? Or does she only keep me around to argue with and prove that she's right all the time…_

When he was finished, he stuck his hands under the sink's faucet and scrubbed furiously. So hard, in fact, that the soap suds were pushed further up his arm, and he had to dip them under the faucet to get it all off.

_Huh. My skin looks rather tan under the water,_ he thought, admiring it. Then he scowled. _Not that Hermione would notice. _She's_ too busy looking up the hour and minute Harry was born to notice how much I've been working on Keeping all summer…_

He splashed some water on his face before turning the water off, staring at the last water rivulets as they made a circular pattern around the sink.

_It's not like they care anyway, do they, _said a nasty voice that crept into his mind._ But you'll show them…you'll show them all when you fly out onto the Quidditch field and block every goal. It'll serve them right not to notice you like you deserve to be. Why, look at what happened last summer—it's proof of how loyal your friends are. You were being attacked, and Harry simply ran off—_

Surprised, Ron jerked up, his face dripping. He grabbed the towel off the hook and wiped his face, trying to erase the voice from his mind. But the memory was there, and he hadn't gone far in drying his arms when he stopped to look at the long gashes across his skin. Although they were fading, they still looked angry and pink, and were soft to the touch. He fingered them, thinking back on the Battle at the Department of Mysteries…

He really couldn't remember much after a Death Eater had pointed a wand at him and yelled "_Confundo!"_, but he did remember the Brain Room.

For some reason, Ron had thought the brains were very funny at the time. His own sluggish laughs had made him sound drunk, and somewhere in his mind he knew that there was nothing funny about the situation at all. There was nothing funny about the frightened look on Harry's face, or noticing that Neville was splattered with blood, or seeing that Ginny was in pain, or seeing Hermione limp in Neville's arms…

But he could remember the feeling of absolute bliss, like nothing could ever be wrong in the world…like that night was all a big joke and they were simply there to have fun…

"_Hey, Harry…there are brains in here…"_

His own voice came to the surface of his mind from that night two months ago. And then, as if it were a trigger reigniting everything he'd forgotten about, the rest of it came flooding back.

A dark room…a large tank that cast an eerie purple-green light over the walls…and things…what looked like living things moving around inside it…

And the brains…swirling around with their long tentacles…

"_Ron, get out of the way, get down—"_

"_Honest, Harry, they're brains—look—Accio Brain!"_

"_RON_—_NO!"_

And the tendrils of thought unraveled as the brain flewtowards him, wrapping themselves around him, tighter and tighter, squeezing him, roping him, choking him…

But that wasn't the thing he remembered the most.

No…what he remembered were the images—thoughts—pictures moving around his mind, burning into his brain—ideas that weren't his thoughts, memories that weren't his own—

They flew by so fast that Ron could hardly tell where one ended and the other began. He saw a castle, a mansion, a lake, a ship, a carriage, a cottage, a snake…he heard whispers and voices, names and places, and always the same person laughing in his head.

He didn't know how long the brain held him captive. The memories, the visions, faded away, and he forgot about them for a while.

But then came the dreams…

All summer they besieged him, showing him things that he didn't want to see, and yet he was somehow strangely intrigued by them. Usually they were scenes from a life Ron did not know. A dark dungeon with stone walls, iron bars, and a high window where he could hear the angry sea hitting the cliff rocks…there were a lot of dreams featuring simply this, and he couldn't get it out of his head how melancholy they made him. When he wasn't dreaming about the dungeon cell, it was about a large, dark castle with men walking around, and long conversations with people—but he could never see their faces, and he could never remember their words.

Ron shuddered and looked at himself in the mirror. It must have been the lighting, because he looked pale.

_Never mind that now, _he thought, rather melancholy._ The Dreamless Sleep potion Madam Pomfrey gave me last year's finally been working. Haven't had a dream for three weeks anyway. And _I_ didn't come off with the worst of it that night…_

He thought darkly of how Neville had been Crucioed, how Ginny had broken her ankle and been Stunned, how Harry had been possessed by Voldemort, how Hermione had almost been killed…

_I'm not used to this. Even after five years of being best mates with Harry bloody Potter—of facing mountain trolls and chess sets, large spiders and snakes, fun-sucking dementors and Grims, egg-shrieking dragons and merpeople, half-giant brothers and invisible flying horses…_

His stomach growled and he suddenly was reminded that Mum had packed him corned beef sandwiches again.

_And through it all, _why_ can't she ever remember that I _hate _corned beef?_

He grumbled under his breath and rolled down his shirt-sleeves before opening the door to the loo. He hadn't got far on his way back to the others, however, when he heard a ruckus in one of the compartments.

"Damned prefect status," he muttered, before barging into the small cabin. "All right, what's the racket about—"

But it wasn't the second-year boys tousling over a Fanged Frisbee that he expected.

"Bugger off, Weasley!" snapped Nott.

"Hang on," said a black-haired, sour-eyed Slytherin girl whose name Ron thought might be Vaisey. "Perhaps he's come to watch our fun?"

"Or rather…come to _be _our fun?" sneered a seventh-year boy, much bigger and beefier than Ron.

It was a compartment full of sixth- and seventh-year Slytherins. There were seven in all, ranging from Nott's weedy size to this burly seventh-year, and two of them were girls. One boy, however, didn't seem to fit in with the rest of them. It took Ron a second to realize that he was a Gryffindor in Ginny's year, and he looked furious at his situation.

"I wouldn't mess with him, Rowle," said the other girl in a whiny voice. "We'll have Potter in here in no time."

"Oh, quit your whining, Davis," sneered Nott. "I'm not scared of that Mudblood-lover."

"Hoy, watch your mouth!" said Ron. "And leave that kid alone, why don't you? Pick on someone your own size."

"Like you?" said the big one called Rowle.

"Eh, we were finished with him anyway. Weren't we, _Rosier_?" said a tall sixth-year Ron knew to be Cyril Urquhart. He grabbed the Gryffindor kid by the collar and shoved his face next to his. "Now you be minding that ol' uncle of yours. He might be dead, but if you go against him, you'll be much worse off, you hear?"

He shoved the boy toward the door, and the kid called Rosier stumbled against Ron before taking off down the corridor without a backward glance.

"Right then," said Cyril Urquhart. "Since you robbed us out of our entertainment, I suppose you'll have to do. _Expelliarmus!_"

Before he could yell, several hands seized Ron's robes and pulled him in, shutting the door behind him.

"OY! Get your filthy Slytherin hands off me, you bas—" He flailed savagely, punching and kicking the bodies that grabbed him, connecting with various jaws and stomachs. Several voices swore and roared with pain—Nott's being one of them, Ron was grimly pleased to hear.

"Hold him—"

"Stop letting him kick me, you idiots—"

"Step on his arms!"

"Got him!" came the whiny girl's victorious cry—

Ron roared with pain as several Slytherins brought their feet down on his arms with their entire weight, his yell competing suddenly with a loud screech echoing throughout the train. Every hand that had seized him let go as the Slytherins covered their ears. Ron, however, couldn't afford this luxury as his arms were held down. He winced in pain, both from arms and ears.

"Wilkes, what the—"

"It's not _me—"_

"Bloody hell! Someone shut it off!"

"OW—Davis—get your fat arse off my foot—"

But the girl they all called Davis could do no such thing, as the train lurched to a stop and the horrible screeching ceased. As the Slytherins were all kneeling or standing, they collided with each other, and Ron, who had been shoved onto the floor before all this, found himself rolling underneath one of the seats.

Several of the Slytherins swore—_there seems to be bad tempers all around, _he thought furiously. For the moment, however, they seemed to have forgot about Ron.

In the midst of hands and feet and elbows, he spotted his wand under the shadow of a foot, and snatched it before it could get stepped on. Just as he did, the lights flickered out.

"Where'd that bloody weasel go—"

"Are we stopped? Why are we stopped?"

"Damn, we're there—"

"No, we're not, you idiot. Can't you see we're nowhere near the station—"

"I can't see anything, thanks to your knee—"

"Quit your yapping, you damn sixth-years, and find Weasley!"

"_Lumos!"_

A flickering wandlight filled the compartment, and the seventh year Rowle swore in satisfaction. "Thought you were being smart, did you?" he said, grabbing Ron out from under the seat.

"If I were smart, why would I hide under a _seat_?" Ron sneered. He was sure his face was flaming from humiliation right now, as well as from frustration. Who cared why the train was stopped as long as it took him away from these filthy gits…

Rowle kneed him in the groin, and Ron bit his lip hard to keep from uttering a sound.

"Hope you don't cry out for ol' Mummy," said Victoria Vaisey with a sneer. "We all know she can't afford anything, let alone _you._ She'd be better off without you. And if we leave her a piece big enough, your folks might be able to bargain it for a nice, new home. Perhaps a cardboard box—"

"SHUT UP!" Ron roared. Nott kicked him in the shins.

"Now the real fun begins," said Wilkes, his twisted face drawn into a sneer.

But before any such fun could be had, a voice sounded above the Slytherins' taunts, instructing the students to exit the train.

Urquhart swore.

"Come on," Nott scowled. "Leave him here. If we're lucky, the Death Eaters will finish him off."

Rowle shoved Ron against the wall, cracking his head on the window. Ron felt a trickle of blood, and saw the wand that Rowle held pointed straight at him.

"We're not finished with you," whispered Rowle menacingly. _"Stupefy!"_

Ron barely remembered slipping to the floor and hearing the Slytherins seal the door shut on their way out before darkness clouded his vision.

* * *

><p>"Come on—we have to find him—"<p>

"I'm sure he's fine, Hermione—"

"Of course he's fine, why wouldn't he be?" she snapped. "I just want to find him so we don't get separated on the way to the castle, is all."

"Er—right—" said Harry hastily. He poked his head out of the compartment and looked down the corridors. "It looks like the coast is clear. Come on!"

Neville, Ginny, and Luna started piling out of the compartment, wands drawn, and joined the few D.A. members who had decided to stick behind with Harry.

As soon as the others were shot of the compartment, Hermione whispered, "I want you to take the Cloak, Harry."

"What? Hermione, I'm not—"

"Take it!" she pleaded. "Please, Harry? You don't have to put it on, but bring it just in case."

Harry glared at her before reaching up and rummaging through his trunk, stuffing the silvery Invisibility Cloak underneath his robes before hurrying out.

"Have any of you seen Ron?" he heard Ginny ask the others as he caught up with them.

"Last I saw he was headed to the loo—" said Terry Boot.

"Looked in a foul mood, too," agreed Dean Thomas.

"But that was ages ago!" Hermione cried. "You saw him come back, didn't you?"

They shook their heads.

"Oh, we're getting nowhere," Ginny sighed, frustrated. She shoved past the two boys and started down the corridor, looking in compartments and calling Ron's name.

"Ginny—wait—" said Harry, starting after her. "I don't think you should do that—what if a Death Eater hears you—"

But she ignored him, and he quickened his pace to keep up. He wasn't used to being the voice of reason for her, he realized.

"Hey—Harry—I think I found something!" she called down the corridor. "The door won't budge, it's like it's been sealed shut! I think it's—_aaauuugghhh!"_

There was a blast and a shower of wall splinters and door fragments, and Ginny disappeared from view.

"GINNY!" Harry shouted. Fear sliced through his heart, and he broke into a run. He jumped over the debris and knelt beside Ginny, relieved to see she was picking herself up and glaring furiously into the compartment.

"Ow—ow—_ow!"_ she moaned. "I'm going to KILL him!"

"Kill who?"

"I'm sorry!" said a white-faced Ron in the compartment behind them. "I'm sorry! I was just trying to get the door open—I didn't see you—"

"Oh, really? Can you see me _now?" _she said sarcastically, smacking him atop the head. "You PRAT!"

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione pelted up behind them. "But—what were you doing in there? We were worried!"

"You were?" Ron perked up.

"You look like shite," remarked Harry.

He was right—there was blood trickling down Ron's forehead, and bruises were coming up on his arms.

"What happened?" said Harry. "It wasn't—"

"No, it wasn't Death Eaters," said Ron sullenly. "Just Slytherins. A gang of nasty, foul-mouthed gits…Stunned me and cracked my head before locking me in here. And that was before they—"

"Well, well, well," said a cold voice behind them. "What _do_ we have here?"

Hermione and Ginny both jumped at the sound. Harry whipped out his wand and whirled around to face none other than Draco Malfoy. Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe, of course, were glaring menacingly from either side of him.

A poster-child Slytherin with sleek blond hair and cold gray eyes, Malfoy had tormented Harry and his friends since day one, and Harry knew today wouldn't be any different. Crabbe and Goyle were the closest things Malfoy had to friends, though "hired goons" came closer to their real relationship.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry said sharply.

Malfoy stepped forward and surveyed them all while Goyle and Crabbe locked the compartment door behind them. Harry at once felt his senses tighten at this—never before had Malfoy and his goons felt the need to lock the door while visiting Harry, Ron, and Hermione in their cabin. So why now?

_This is not good._

A smug grin slid across Malfoy's face. "But don't you know? I want what I always want this time of year—to come and visit my favorite hero, pauper, and Mudblood. After all, I never know when it's going to be the last—"

"I'm getting sick of your stupid game, ferret. Get your goons out of our faces and get the bloody hell out!" Harry snapped.

"Calm yourself, Potter," Malfoy said in a patronizing tone, "You think I'm going to obey you just because you demand? Just because everyone else is stupid enough to bow down and worship the 'Golden Boy' doesn't mean _I _am."

He pulled out his wand and put a Silencing Charm on the compartment door. Harry's hand tightened on his own wand.

_This is definitely not good._

"Why did you do that?" asked Hermione, her voice high and tense. She, like Harry, knew how bad the situation was getting and did not like it one bit.

"Somehow I don't think that you of all people, Granger, need a lesson on what Silencing Charms do," Malfoy scoffed. "I'm making sure no one can hear us. There are just under a thousand people on this train. You think I'm going to want them all eavesdropping on what I say? Hmm…and on second thought, perhaps I should just take one more precaution—_expelliarmus!"_

Harry's wand was jerked from his grasp and three more wands soared over his head and into the waiting hand of Draco Malfoy. Behind him, Ron fumed.

"This is really starting to piss me off," Ron hissed. "Give them back!"

"I don't have any intention of keeping your filthy wands," said Malfoy scathingly. "I'm just going to be borrowing them until I'm finished. I have to make sure that you don't try anything, don't I?"

"Like giving you what you deserve?" said Ginny unexpectedly from behind Harry. "If you wish to have your bogeys flying around your head all year, feel free to stay. If not, leave!"

With seven people all on their feet, the compartment seemed more crowded than ever. Malfoy, in an uncharacteristic show of nonchalance, leaned against the door, shaking his head. "Before I've even had a chance to tell you what I've really come to say? That wouldn't make me a very good messenger, would it?"

Harry's insides froze. There was something in the way Malfoy was drawing himself up, guardedly, his eyes glinting in a dangerous light as if he knew something—something very important that was taking all his attention…

"Say it," Hermione said, almost faintly. Harry didn't have to turn and look at her to know that she, too, had zeroed in on 'messenger' and come to the same conclusion Harry had. "Give us your message and be done with it."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and looked at Harry. "You know, Potter, you may have outsmarted the Dark Lord and put my father and some of his colleagues in prison, but I'd watch my back if I were you. They'll be out of there in no time, mark my words, and when they are, not even Dumbledore will be able to help you."

Harry could feel Ron, Hermione, and Ginny tense behind him.

"Thanks for the warning," Harry said stonily. "But the last time I checked, I didn't have Dumbledore to come save my arse the past three times I faced Voldemort. I think I'll do just fine, thanks."

Malfoy glared at him. "I knew you wouldn't take me seriously, and now you'll have to pay for it. You won't last a minute with him and his followers next time. You don't _know _what he's planning—"

"Oh and I suppose _you_ do?" Harry snapped.

He supposed the smart thing to do would have been to let Malfoy keep talking—as wont as he was to admit it, the slimy Slytherin probably did know something about Voldemort's plans that he didn't—but his anger had got the better of him.

"Like the likes of him would stoop so low as to confide in a stupid sixteen-year-old and spill all of his deep, dark secrets?" Harry continued. "I knew you thought a lot of yourself, _Draco_, but even that is rather idiotic for you."

Malfoy's expression was unreadable. Then his brows furrowed and he hissed between his teeth. "You think you're so knowledgeable of the Dark Arts and the Death Eaters, don't you, just because you've had a few little trysts with them? You think you know what the Dark Lord is planning just because you took a little walk inside his head last year? You think that just because you fought off an Imperius in class you've got what it takes to win a battle against Death Eaters?

"Well, I've got news for you! _You_ haven't had to fight off the Imperius every night of your childhood. _You've_ never even been inside a Death Eater's house, let alone had to live alongside the Dark Arts every day. _You've_ seen the Dark Lord once every year—so what? I've livedwith him! You think you know everything just because he's tried to kill you once or twice… But you haven't seen half the stuff I have, or heard half the things I've heard, and if you knew so much as an ounce of what I know, you'd—"

"I'd what?" said Harry coldly. "Go running to Mummy and Daddy and wish I was dead like them?"

"I'm warning you—!" Malfoy's wand gave a small spark, but otherwise didn't move.

Harry caught a movement behind the three Slytherins and a smirk spread across his own face. "No, I think it's you who's been warned. Now if I were you—while I'm bloody well ecstatic that I'm not—I'd leave before my welcome's been overstayed—"

There were six blinding flashes and Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle collapsed on top of one another.

"Whoops," Harry finished, deadpan. "Too late."

He stepped over the three unconscious bodies and unlocked the door—the glass on it had been broken by the six combined spells and was now littering the floor. The compartment entrance slid open to reveal a gaggle of familiar faces peering in, hands tucking wands back into their pockets.

"Thanks—" Harry began, when he realized they couldn't hear him. He reached down and plucked his wand out of Malfoy's pocket, tossing the other three behind him for his friends to sort out their own, then cast the counter-charm for the Silencer. All at once a wave of noise came at them.

"—sorry if we were late, we didn't know—"

"—saw Malfoy and his goons head in and thought—"

"—you guys all right—"

"—what was going on?"

"—I said we should wait till we heard something, but we didn't—"

"—we saw their wands out—"

"It's all right, we're fine!" Harry said loudly over the noise. "Thanks, mates, for helping out. They cast a Silencing Charm so you couldn't hear us, and Malfoy had our wands so we couldn't defend ourselves, but you all were great! You did well."

Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, Terry Boot, Anthony Goldstein, and the beaming Creevey brothers looked pleased that they hadn't made the situation worse, or had come barging in where it wasn't wanted.

"Can we get some help moving these disgusting gits out?" Ron asked.

The three Slytherins were levitated and moved to a compartment a few doors down. Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein, in particular, took great cares to make sure their heads bumped into every available doorway before stuffing them up and onto the luggage rack.

"That was a close call," Ron muttered to Harry as the two helped Neville lift Malfoy. "I thought those goons were their Death Eater fathers."

Harry looked at the pale face of the Slytherin before closing the door in the compartment. "I bet you anything he's got the Mark already..."

He turned and saw Colin and Dennis Creevey looking at them shrewdly.

"Why don't you talk later," said Neville quietly, with a furtive glance. "Let's just get out of here. I don't like this."

"Don't be such a wimp, Longbottom," said Anthony Goldstein, rolling his eyes. "We're all protected. Nothing's going to happen."

"I wouldn't say that if I were you," said Harry, leading the way back down the corridor. "Because 'nothing' always does."

"And you know what they say. Better to be safe than sorry," Terry Boot agreed.

"Yeah, and you know what else they say? It's better to have _been_ sorry than to not have been at _all_," Ron joked.

Beside Harry, Ginny and Hermione rolled their eyes.

"About time," said Padma Patil as they caught up with her, Luna, and another Ravenclaw named Su Li.

Terry and Anthony walked ahead of them with the two Ravenclaw girls, and Dean pulled Neville aside to ask him something as they walked. Luna drifted ahead of them, pulling _The Quibbler _out from her cloak pocket and studying it once more. This left Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny alone, which suited them just fine, as it gave Ron a chance to tell them what had happened in the Slytherin compartment. At first, Harry could see Ron's obvious embarrassment about the encounter. But as the tale wore on, Ron seemed to enjoy Ginny's gasps and Hermione's clucks of sympathy and the story became infinitely more detailed.

"—so when I woke up, I just heard this silence, you know? And that spooked me a bit because the way those gits were acting, Death Eaters were coming to finish everyone off, and I thought you lot had left me behind—"

"_I_ would have if it meant I wouldn't have had to get blown on my arse," muttered Ginny, still sore about earlier.

"—and I knew what they'd done to the door, so I thought about what to do, and then it hit me! Remember back in the Department of Mysteries when we were trying to keep those thugs out of the planet room, Gin? Well, Luna saving you is where I got the idea to—you know—blow you onto your—er—arse—"

"Well then!" she snapped. "Now that I know the whole story that makes it _loads_ better!"

"Wait, what was that boy's name?" asked Hermione, with an air of trying to keep the peace. "The Gryffindor boy?"

"Er, Lilier…no, Daisier…perhaps Columbine…no! It was Rosier, they called him. But I don't remember hearing that name before—"

"Hang on…" said Harry, recalling the Pensieve and his trip through Dumbledore's memories back in fourth year. "I do! He's the one who took out a chunk of Moody's nose when he was captured, I think. He's a Death Eater."

"Harry," Ron scoffed. "I hardly think a student could have done all _that._"

"Not him, you git! Evan Rosier. You said Rowle told him to follow after his uncle? That's probably him."

"But why would they Sort a Death Eater's nephew into Gryffindor?" said Ron.

"Wait—are you two talking about _Tobias _Rosier?" asked Ginny, catching up with them. "Tobias Rosier, the same boy who can't go a day without pranking the Slytherins—him and his twin sister who con the Creevey brothers into helping them out and try to drag me along every chance they get—and who was just made Gryffindor prefect for some reason totally beyond me? _That _Tobias Rosier is the nephew of a well-known Death Eater?"

"I should say he is," said a terse voice behind them.

The four Gryffindors whirled around, wands out.


	4. Hestia Jones

**Chapter Four:**

**HESTIA JONES**

The unknown witch behind them had lit her wand, revealing herself as tall and slender with long black curls and the faintest trace of a mischievous smile. She wore robes of a dark rose and laced-up boots that matched her conical hat of deep brown leather. If Harry had been forced to guess, he would have said she was no more than thirty, though it wasn't one of his better skills.

"Hey, I know you!" Ron said. "You're…you're Whatsherface from the Order. You hang around with Lupin and Tonks and them."

Her eyebrows raised a little. "Well-spotted," she said in a tone of voice that left Harry wondering whether she was impressed with Ron for remembering her, or slightly snubbed that he referred to her as "Whatsherface".

"Name is Hestia Jones—or Professor Jones, if you will," she corrected herself with a slight bow. "And I know who you all are, of course."

A light bulb clicked on in Harry's brain. He had seen Hestia Jones before, last year at the Dursleys', as a part of the Advance Guard that escorted him to Grimmauld Place. He remembered she had looked a lot brighter then, and cheerier…although that could be because they were now standing in a darkly lit path under much more dire circumstances.

"In any case, Evan Rosier has been dead for fifteen years—but Tobias Rosier and his sister Alexandra happen to be niece and nephew as well," she continued.

"Hang on," said Ginny. "You're their aunt? They've told me about you before. But wouldn't that make you—"

"Evan Rosier's wife?" said Hestia Jones, chuckling. "Hardly. I'm related to them on their mother's side. The relation between me and the late Rosier is purely coincidental…"

She looked to her right and flashed her wand red for a second. Harry swiveled his head to where she was looking, and saw an answering red glow in the darkness. He peered and tried to see who it was, but saw only a shadow slinking back into the darkness.

"Who was—" he began.

"Never mind that," she said. "It doesn't matter."

Harry looked at her, trying to read her features, a feeling growing in his stomach. His grip tightened over his wand.

_If that was a Death Eater…if she was trying to alert their side, give them a clue and tell them that she had Harry Potter in her custody…if she is a spy for Voldemort and was placed in the Order because Dumbledore thought he could trust her…_

His mind was whirring and the knot of dread in his gut tightened. The older witch's face was impassive, he couldn't tell whether the thoughts running through her head were those of a servant of the Dark Lord—thinking about how pleased her master would be if she grabbed hold of Harry Potter and Apparated to Voldemort's side—or whether she was simply thinking about getting him and the last of the students inside of Hogwarts safely and being able to eat at the start-of-term feast…

"I think we're the last ones…" Ron trailed.

"You are," said Hestia Jones. "Unless there's something you know that I don't? I'm supposed to be the last escort for the lot of you."

She brought her wand up again, and Harry tensed, his grip on his own getting tighter. But she only whispered the incantation he knew far too well, and a large, silver animal erupted from her wand and ran off down the path in front of them before Harry could clearly see what its form was.

She caught him watching her. "I understand you were able to make one at thirteen. You've certainly got a leg up on your father in that regard, and that's hard to do."

Harry blinked at the mention of his father, but didn't say anything. Ron and Hermione kept looking from Harry to their new professor, wondering what was going on, but Harry didn't bother to give an answer.

A silver form came gliding up to them and stopped in front of Professor Jones, but it wasn't the large animal that had left her wand moments before. She reached out to touch the raven Patronus. It cawed irritably and flew off without further notice.

"All right, the way is clear. If you lot don't mind, we need to be getting a move on," she said quietly. "We're being guarded, but they can't hold the wards for much longer. Come now."

They followed her down the path, matching her brisk stride with their own. The lights weren't on anymore in the train compartments, Harry now noticed, which succeeded in making them safer under the cover of darkness.

The ground was wet and muddy and his feet squelched when he walked. He wished he had boots like Professor Jones instead of his old trainers that were practically falling apart—he made a mental note to buy some new ones first Hogsmeade trip that came up.

He shivered as they walked, and pulled his cloak tighter around him. The air was frosty for a September night, probably left over from the rain and hail from before.

"What's that?" Ginny asked, pointing at the silvery corner that was now poking out of Harry's sleeve.

"Nothing," he said hastily and stuffed the Cloak down further. But Ginny continued to stare at him shrewdly as they walked down the path that everyone else had taken, alongside the train tracks.

Something started niggling at Harry's mind. _Stuffing. Stuffing my Cloak, no, stuffing something else—_

He grabbed a hold of the back of Ron's robes and pulled him back, away from the others.

"Oy!"

"Ron—I've just remembered—"

"Gerroff me!"

"Shut up and listen! We weren't the last ones off the train!"

That got Ron to calm down.

"Ron, Malfoy's still back there! He was Stunned, remember? Him and Crabbe and Goyle—"

"What? Harry, I'm not—"

"Six people Stunned them! That much power could knock someone out for a week. They've got to still be there, and the Order wouldn't know about it because we hid them in the luggage rack—"

Ron blinked. "So, what, you reckon we should tell Professor Jones—?"

Harry hesitated.

"No," Ron said shortly.

"But doesn't that seem…I mean, he's still a student…"

"No," Ron said firmly. "Harry, his _dad_ was at the Department of Mysteries! We almost died because of Malfoy's father! Think about it. If there are Death Eaters hanging around here, do you think they would try to off three known Death Eaters' sons? They'd probably just pick them up, dust them off, and send them running to school like good little boys. We're not going to risk our own necks by going back and getting them. I'm _not _going to do that for a Slytherin! Especially not after what they did to me."

Ron was right, Harry knew. Malfoy and his two cronies weren't in any danger being left back there. But it just didn't seem right to leave them like that.

"Fine," he said. "But as soon as we get back, we're telling someone. As much as I hate him and wish he would lock himself up in one of those foul dungeons and toss the key in the lake…he's…well, I mean, he's still one of Dumbledore's students, and…well, I reckon Dumbledore would want to know."

Ron stared at him. "You're becoming far too much like Hermione for your own good."

Harry smiled, relieved that Ron wasn't adamantly insisting they do nothing. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"I'm still deciding."

They hurried to catch up with the others.

"Professor?" Hermione was saying, "If you don't mind my asking, which subject will you be teaching?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," the older witch answered. "Just for this year, though. Wish I could say it'll be for longer, but I know full well the curse on this job, and I'd rather be walking out of these gates next spring than be carried out on a stretcher…"

"Curse?" said Harry, joining in on the conversation in time to hear that part. "What curse?"

Professor Jones laughed lightly. "Tell me, Harry, how many professors for this post have you had since you started Hogwarts?"

"Six." Harry didn't even have to think about it. "Counting you, of course."

"Right. And can you guess how many we had when I was at Hogwarts?"

"Seven," said Ginny, catching on.

"Got it in one. I'd bet you my mounted broomstick that if you were to ask everyone who's attended Hogwarts every seven years from now till around fifty years ago, they'll say the same thing," Professor Jones said in a grim voice, talking low. The other four had to lean in a bit to hear what she was saying.

"The job is jinxed," she continued. "Has been for some time now. It's been quite a job for Professor Dumbledore to have to come up with someone new and perfectly adequate every single year. Mind you, there are some who come back every few years or so—like that Quirinus Quirrell, incidentally. Big mistake that was…"

Harry stiffened at the memory and he saw Ron and Hermione exchange looks in the corner of his eye. Ginny looked nonplussed, not having been there the night when the other three went to the third-floor corridor and tried to stop Quirrell and Voldemort from stealing the Philosopher's Stone.

Something nagged at Harry's mind. He tried to dismiss it at first, but he realized by its persistence that it was too important to simply forget.

_Before my first year, in Diagon Alley…Hagrid and I were there at Gringotts, getting the Philosopher's Stone, only I didn't know it at the time. But someone else knew it was there. Someone else sneaked into Gringotts and broke into vault seven-one-three and tried to take it. Only it wasn't there. It wasn't there, it was at the castle…at Hogwarts…where Voldemort sneaked in and tried to steal the Stone… _

_Voldemort… _

And then it clicked. He looked up in horror, realization setting in.

_Voldemort was there in June in the Ministry. Voldemort was there that day in Gringotts. Voldemort spent almost a year in Hogwarts… _

_What was it that Hagrid had said that year? "Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe—'cept maybe Hogwarts."_

It was the three places. The three places that everyone said were the safest. That everyone said was impossible for anyone to break into. For anyone to come waltzing in, even the Darkest wizard of the century. For _Voldemort_ to enter. But now…

_We're not safe here. We're none of us safe here. Hogwarts is the one place where we're supposed to be safe from Voldemort. It was inevitable for the Ministry and Gringotts to fail us. But for Hogwarts…for Dumbledore… _

Dumbledore had trusted Quirrell. He had to have, or he wouldn't have let him teach, especially with Harry there. If he had known that he was talking to a man with Voldemort on the back of his head…if he had known that when he escorted the DADA professor into his office that he was escorting Voldemort there…

_And Moody. Professor Moody was Crouch Jr. the entire time, and Dumbledore never even knew. And don't even get me started on Snape… _

All of which begged the question: Was it wise to trust everyone that Dumbledore did?

Harry tried to tell himself that it was because he had seen the Headmaster's vulnerability with such clear eyes the year before. If he had learned anything, it was that people made mistakes. And those mistakes came from the wrong choice, like Voldemort's decision to target him instead of Neville when they were born. And even if you were over a hundred years old like Dumbledore, the choices you made couldn't always be the best ones.

But in truth, Harry wasn't trying to look after himself more because he didn't trust Dumbledore's judgment. It was because he knew in his heart that something might happen to take not only Dumbledore's judgment away entirely, but everything else that it made up…

"Knut for your thoughts," said a voice beside him.

Harry jumped.

Professor Jones was walking beside him, her long cloak swishing in the cold, wet breeze. Harry wondered why he hadn't noticed her there before, and realized in the same instant that Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had moved a few yards ahead. They were still well within the reach of their new professor's watchful eye, but not too close that they would be able to hear whatever conversation Professor Jones had in mind.

"I saw you lagging behind and thought you could use someone to talk to," the older witch said quietly. "No one your age should ever have to look the way you have been looking lately."

"Yeah. Except that I have been," Harry said shortly.

They walked in silence for a moment. Harry supposed he shouldn't have snapped at her, but it seemed better than the alternative. His insides were still frozen at the chain of thoughts he had followed up. He didn't even know her…how could he know to trust her? She was in the Order, sure. But then again, so was Snape and he wasn't the best of confidants.

_Dumbledore's word alone isn't enough for me anymore, _he realized._ I have to find out for myself whether someone is trustworthy or not. For my own safety. _

As if she was reading his thoughts—_which she could have been,_ Harry thought guardedly—she spoke up.

"Harry…I don't expect you to trust me. Goodness knows, if you did this early on in the game, I would have been surprised—and disappointed. You've earned your right to distrust people first and ask questions later. I understand."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn't finished.

"But whatever you think of me, that is no excuse to disregard anything I may teach you in class," she said, her voice turning sharper. "Believe it or not, Professor Dumbledore hired me for a reason. Now, of all times, he would never have chosen me if he didn't think I could teach you what you'll be needing for what is to come. Are we clear?"

Harry closed his mouth and nodded. "Yes, Professor."

He tried not to let the wave of guilt overcome him too much. She was right, on both counts. It was all right for him to second-guess the headmaster…but not until he knew as much of the situation as Dumbledore did.

Harry heard Hermione gasp as they rounded the bend, coming into view of the Hogsmeade Station, and his head jerked up.

They could now see exactly why the train had stopped.

Right in front of Hogsmeade Station, a huge crater marked the middle of the place where the tracks should be. Harry saw pieces of gleaming metal in the bottom. The rest of the rails on either side of the hole were pulled back and twisted unnaturally.

"What _did _that?" Ginny asked.

"A spell," answered the professor. "A very powerful spell."

They all shivered, and Professor Jones motioned them to get into the last carriage.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny climbed into it next to Luna, Neville, and the Ravenclaw Su Li who had been waiting for them. Noticing that they had one too many people as it was, they tried to sit closer together in order to make room for Harry—Hermione was practically sitting on Ron's lap, making the both of them turn pink.

"No, it's all right," Harry said, seeing how cramped they were. "You lot can go on ahead. I don't mind walking. If that's all right with you, Professor?"

She eyed him appraisingly and nodded.

Ron shrugged. "Your funeral," he said and made a show of rubbing the muscles in his legs to show how tired he was before closing the door.

The thestral pulling the carriage stopped grooming itself and started off down the walk at a and Professor Jones followed at a brisk walk. They rounded the bend and came to the tall iron-black gates that led to the Hogwarts grounds. Two statues of winged boars stood on either side of the gates, and beneath the metal-wrought Hogwarts crest that was set in the very middle of both gates, the school motto—

"'Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus'," Harry read aloud, grimacing slightly at the first word.

"'Never tickle a sleeping dragon'," Professor Jones translated, seeing him look at it.

Harry nodded. _Of course, 'Draco' means dragon, like the constellation…much better than knowing we have Malfoy's name on the gate—he struts around as if he owns the place enough as it is…_

Something Hestia Jones had said earlier suddenly came back to him.

"Er—professor—" he said haltingly. "I was wondering—"

He paused.

"Well, spit it out, Harry. You and your father…always beating around the bush…"

"That's what I was going to ask," said Harry. "Did you know my father?"

She chuckled aloud. "I only spent seven years with him—well, ten if you were to count the three years we spent in Auror training. He and Sirius could always get a smile out of me—whether it was getting drunk at the Hog's Head and running through the entrance hall stark-naked, or pulling those pranks on old Moody when he was trying to teach us how to move stealthily…" she chuckled at the memory.

"Oh?" said Harry, trying to sound casual. "So you were…close?"

"Quite a bit, yeah…but it was your mother I was closest to. Lived in the same dorm with her for seven years. She would always come ranting to me about your father—it was always Potter this and Potter that…but I knew they'd end up together. They were too sweet when they weren't arguing. And she did always admire him…in her own way…"

Harry hardly dared to let his feet touch the ground—it seemed too loud, and he didn't want to miss anything. Without even knowing it, his frostiness towards Professor Jones began to melt away.

She glanced sideways at him. "Hungry for more details?"

"Oh no, I was just curious," he said, nonchalant. He wanted to hear more, but didn't want her to think he was starved for it. He reluctantly changed the subject. "So…how did Professor Dumbledore come to pick you as our Defense teacher?"

She studied him. "Well…when I was in my seventh year, I was one of five who got the highest marks—not just in our O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. exams, but out of our entire generation. The five of us could have done anything, become anyone, by the time we graduated. One of us, actually, became second only to the Minister three years in. The other two married and became Aurors for a time. And the other became a professor here."

Harry furrowed his brow. Something that she said was niggling at his memory, but he wasn't sure why…

"I wanted desperately to be an Auror and help out with the War. It was at its worst during this time, you understand. I worked hard for three years, and then right when we were about to graduate from Auror training…your parents died. Voldemort fell, the War was over with, and I…I couldn't do it. I couldn't handle the fall-out.

"We were the best of friends at Hogwarts, you see. There was the seven of us: James, Sirius, Remus and Peter, of course, had their own secrets and adventures they went on without us…and then there was Lily, Aletha Freeman, and myself. Lily and James were always together, and Letha fancied Sirius, and Remus and I were very good friends. Peter always seemed to be left out. After your parents died, we were all devastated. As a group of friends, we broke up—Sirius went to Azkaban for killing them, or so we thought; Peter was believed to have been blown to pieces; Remus became a recluse; Letha had a child and I never saw her again…and a big part of me died with them. So I quit.

"I transferred to another part of the Ministry and worked there for a few years. I became head of my department soon after—mind you, this was before the Ministry was reorganized into just seven departments and we were all reassigned. But after a while, I started noticing how corrupt the Ministry was becoming, and a lot of the members in it. I stopped caring how hard I worked and how much my pay increased, and a few years later it didn't even matter any more," Professor Jones said, her face curiously blank.

"It was after the Umbridge fiasco that Dumbledore came to me with a job offer. 'Teach at Hogwarts for a year,' he told me, 'and you may find during the course of it that you are being made the student, not they.'" She flashed a smile at Harry. "Who can refuse the Headmaster when he comes calling?"

Harry nodded. "Who—who were the other four?"

"Excuse me?"

"The other four who graduated with you. You said one worked for the Minister, one worked for Dumbledore, and two became Aurors. Who were they?" he said.

"Ah…well, Edgar Bones was an old friend of mine. He was one of the younger brothers of Amelia Bones. Before she became Minister she was Head of the DMLE. That was the position that he held in his day, before he died."

"Edgar Bones…" Harry mused aloud. "Wasn't he murd—"

"Yes," Professor Jones said shortly. "He was murdered in the first war by Rabastan Lestrange, along with his wife and two children. With the position he held, he never stood a chance. He was a sitting target."

"With his…" Harry said, starting to feel sick.

_With his wife and two children? Lestrange couldn't have just killed him in an alley with no one to see, but he had to watch the Death Eater murder his wife and kids as well? _

"It was his son's birthday party, but since they were in hiding only his family could be there…" Professor Jones' voice sounded far away as she recanted the past. "Amelia couldn't make it, but his brothers Douglas and Hector were there with Doug's wife and kid. And then the Death Eaters showed up, and the none of them stood a chance. They had to watch Lestrange kill Edgar's wife and children first. It was on pure luck that Hector made it out alive, with Doug's daughter Susie. Edgar fought Lestrange to the death, and after he fell, they tried to finish off Douglas and his wife. That was when the Aurors showed up. They were able to save the wife, but it was too late to save Doug. He still remains in a coma."

Harry stared stonily ahead as they rounded the lake. He knew that Edgar Bones had died, but he didn't know how or who else had been murdered with him. And Douglas Bones…

_Susan Bones' father,_ he realized. _She was there that night…she just barely escaped with her life…and lost her mother in the process. _

Was this war never going to end? Would he forever be hearing the stories of people who lost their loved ones to Voldemort and his Death Eaters? Would there ever come a time when he didn't look at a classmate and wonder if they had seen their father murdered, or their sister tortured?

It was just too much to handle. It had been too much to handle since he was eleven and learning that his parents had not died in a car crash. But each year it became worse and worse, and every time he stood up against Voldemort, he had a bigger burden to carry. He had thought a year and a half ago after he came back from the graveyard and Voldemort's rebirthing party that things couldn't possibly get any worse than that. But then he had to live through his decision to go the Department of Mysteries and the consequences that came from that. It was then that he wondered—if he had known just what he was getting into when Hagrid first told him he was a wizard…would he still have wanted it?

He thought he would have. But now…he wasn't so sure.

_I nearly died in my first year. First in the Forbidden Forest…then again with Quirrell and the mirror. I nearly died trying to keep Voldemort from getting the Stone…and for what? Sure he didn't get the Stone…sure he stopped drinking unicorn blood…sure he left Hogwarts alone for two years. But really, all I did was delay the inevitable. I stopped him from getting immortal life, but… _

_Fat load of good that did us, anyhow,_ he thought bitterly. _Voldemort still came back. Only now it's worse because he has his own body and a wand and he's not sitting around on his arse, biding his time and waiting for something to happen. And now that the wizarding world knows he's out there… _

_He's not going to be tiptoeing around anymore. He's going to strike, as soon as he can, whenever he can, there's going to be nothing standing in his way now… _

But that wasn't true, he remembered. His words from only a few months ago rose into his head.

"_So…so does that mean that…that one of us has got to kill the other one…in the end?" _

Then Dumbledore's voice answered his own in a way that made it seem as if the weight of the world rested in that one simple word. _"Yes."_

_It's all up to me,_ Harry thought now. _I am the one thing standing in the way between Voldemort and what he wants. Me…no one else…and he's going to stop at nothing to get me out of the way. Whether it's by making me think someone I love is in trouble and drawing me to where he wants me, or stopping the train before we get to the one place he can't get me. He'll do anything…none of my friends are safe, not even at school…and instead of going to classes and being worried about whether we'll_ _win the Quidditch Cup or not, I have to worry about who he's going to go after next. Who he's going to torture and kill to get closer to me. _

_Because in the end…it's just going to be me and him. No one else can stop him, no one else can save everyone from him. It's just me. It's all up to me… _

He barely noticed they were almost to the castle by now. The numerous towers rose against the black night ominously, twinkling lights practically dancing in the windows.

They had been silent for the past five minutes, both lost in thought, when Professor Jones cleared her throat.

She regarded him for a long moment before she spoke. "Harry, may I be blunt with you?"

He looked up at her and was drawn back by the ferocity of her gaze.

"You are _not_ alone, Harry," she said, her voice low. "No matter what you go through, no matter who you're with…you're not alone in this. You have the entire wizarding world behind you, your friends at your side every step of the way, the Order here to guard you and watch your back…and you have Dumbledore to guide you. You may think whatever you will of the situation, but don't you _dare_ think for one second that you're alone in this."

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. Whatever he expected her to say, it certainly wasn't this.

"This world is all of ours, you know. Voldemort is a threat to _all _of us. You're not the only one he's ever targeted, so don't you dare start thinking that you are."

"I'm not—" he started angrily.

"Hear me out first, Harry," she said, putting her hands on his shoulders. "Your mother was my _best friend_, and your father nearly so. They fought against Voldemort until the very end, and they're still fighting even now…through you! You can't fight this war alone, and just because you have the power to stop Voldemort, does not mean you have the might.

"Alone, you're next to defenseless against him. But with your friends and your teachers and Dumbledore and the Order helping you…_you will win!_ Just know, that with all of us behind you, you can do it. But if you try to go this alone…taking the high road because guilt tells you that everyone else is going to die and it'll be your fault…you're not going to get very far, and that's a fact."

They had reached the oak doors, but she had stopped in front of them and was looking at him. "It's like what Dumbledore always says," she said. "'We are only as strong as we are united…as weak as we are divided'. Remember this, Harry Potter. You are not alone."

She opened the great front doors and walked inside. Almost dumbly, he followed her. He felt an overwhelming urge to say a million things—spill out all of his worries over the summer and thoughts from what Dumbledore had told him after the Battle.

"I must leave you here. The Sorting is about to begin, so you should be able to enter unnoticed—"

He nodded, mind still caught up in his thoughts.

"Oh—Professor?" he said, remembering just in time.

"Yes, Harry?" she asked, rose-colored cloak sweeping the floor as she turned around.

"I forgot to tell you—after everyone else got off the train, er…well, three of my classmates tried to hex me and my friends, so we…erm, took care of them first," he said, face reddening.

He saw a twinkle in her eye, though her face remained impassive. "Ahhh, yes. I remember these inter-House rivalries well. Slytherins, were they?"

"Yes. But the thing is, they were hit with a fairly strong Stunner and I think they might be there still. But their fathers are Death Eaters, so—" he hurriedly added.

Her brow quirked. "I see. And, ah…where might these gentlemen be, pray?"

"In, er…in the luggage rack."

This time, she had to struggle to keep the mischievous smirk off her face that was threatening to break free. "I will see if I can find them. Mind you, if the term had already started, you would be receiving a detention and some docked points, but as the Sorting has not yet begun, I'm afraid I have nothing to threaten you with…"

Harry felt a grin spread across his own face. "Yes, professor."

"I know your sort. You'll either make my job a lot harder…or a hell of a lot easier," she said, then called over her shoulder as she walked away, "You got off lucky, Potter."

_I always do, _he thought with a sheepish grin.

The thought cheered him a bit, until he remembered just one more thing. He hesitated before calling out, but felt that it was important.

"Er—Professor Jones? Who did you say were the other ones who graduated with you?"

She turned around on the front step and looked at him for a moment before she answered.

"Your parents, Harry," she replied. "They were your parents."

And with a flick of her wand, the oak doors closed behind her.


End file.
